“I know.” Lizzie smiled drowsily. “I know he was here. I felt it.” She wrinkled her brow a little trying to remember. The images were faint but the feeling of warmth, the confidence in knowing that Nat had been with her, persisted. “I spoke to him, I think,” she said, “though I do not remember the words…”

“You told him how sad you were not to be carrying his child,” Alice said, after a hesitation. “He asked me about it, Lizzie, and I had to admit that I knew. I think he was shocked both at the depth of your distress and the fact that you had not spoken to him about it.” She stopped.

“It was wrong of me to hold so much back.” Lizzie turned her head and looked at Alice’s troubled face. “Yes, I told Nat so little of how I was feeling-about Monty’s death, about our marriage, about the baby…I kept it all bottled up inside me but it was like an explosion-as fast as I pushed it down it jetted up again. All the anger and the grief and the unhappiness had to find a way out.” She looked at the bars of sunlight moving across the ceiling above her bed and felt a deep peace. “I don’t feel like that any longer,” she said. “It has all gone now.” A shadow touched her heart. “I do not suppose there is any news of Mary?”

“None,” Alice said, standing up. “I am so sorry, Lizzie.”

“I tried to help her,” Lizzie said. Her voice caught. “Even though she had taken Monty from me. She was so hurt, Alice, so damaged and twisted and unhappy.” She shivered. “I did not know love could be so destructive.”

“I will go to fetch you some food,” Alice said. “Now Mrs. Alibone has left I am afraid that the house does not function with anywhere near the same efficiency, but it is nice not to have her sinister presence lurking behind every door!”

After Lizzie had eaten the soup and bread that Alice brought she made her friend go home, for she thought that Alice looked exhausted. She lay a little longer in bed, watching the shadow patterns on the wall, and thought about how much Nat must care for her to have sat by her bedside and how she hoped deep in her heart that he loved her. She was sure she had felt his love for her; felt it in his presence beside her, heard it in his words, experienced it in his gentle touch.

Tonight, she thought. Tonight I will go downstairs and we will dine together and talk, and I will tell Nat I love him. Perhaps she had already told him when she had been in her fever. She was not sure, but she wanted to be honest with him and tell him openly of her feelings now. And the more she thought about it the more she hoped, stubbornly, optimistically, that Nat really did love her, too, or at least that there was the chance that what he felt for her would grow and mature into love. Just as her love for him had changed from the childish infatuation of her youth, so she was almost sure that Nat’s feelings for her had also undergone a change in the past week or so. She clung tenaciously to the belief and felt her faith in him like a spark of fire spreading warmth through her body.

After a little while she slipped out of bed. She chose her gown with particular care, shivering a little with sensual anticipation as the green silk slid over the crisp material of her bodice and petticoats. Her skin seemed alive to every touch, anticipating Nat’s hands on her later. They would talk and then they would make love, and this time it would be different, with all that wild passion transformed into something even more blissful because of their deepening feelings.

The maid arranged her hair, restraining the auburn corkscrew curls with a silver clasp. Lizzie dismissed the girl, took one final glance at herself in the looking glass, drew a shawl around her shoulders and was about to go downstairs when she heard the front door open and the sound of voices in the hall.

“Must you trouble me with this now?” That was Nat, his voice cold and hard and very angry. “I’ve told you, Fortune, that you will have no more money from me. It stops here.”

“My dear chap.” Lizzie recognized Tom, smooth, amused, in a parody of an English gentleman. “Nothing was further from my mind. Your little sister’s shocking secret is safe with me, I assure you. I am sure she and your parents have suffered enough-and indeed, you have paid handsomely for her indiscretion, have you not?”

Lizzie froze, willing the stairs not to creak beneath her feet. The shock blasted through her body leaving her weak. Tom had been blackmailing Nat-and Nat had paid him? She could not believe it. Not Nat, who had always been dedicated to honor and integrity. Nat would never pay a blackmailer. He would see him damned first. It was not possible. And yet, and yet…Lizzie’s mind spun. Tom had made some reference to Nat’s sister Celeste. Tom must have ruined Celeste, debauched her perhaps, and was threatening to make the news public. It had happened before, with Lydia. Perhaps Celeste might even be pregnant, which would account for why she had been hidden away at Water House these months past. And of course under the circumstances Nat would pay to keep Tom quiet and preserve Celeste’s secret. What choice did he have if he was not to parade her disgrace before the world and destroy his sister’s reputation and his parents’ lives? It was no wonder, Lizzie thought, that Nat hated Tom. But why had he not told her? Had he not trusted her to keep the secret of his sister’s scandal?

With a sick feeling of dread and a bleak sense of disappointment Lizzie remembered the moment when Nat had confided in her about the fire that had taken Celeste’s twin and his own guilt that he had not been able to save her. Was this the secret Nat had been keeping from her? He had come so close to telling her, but then he had drawn back. Lizzie felt a dull pain spreading through her at the thought that Nat had hesitated to trust her.

But Tom was speaking again and Lizzie leaned closer over the banister, straining to catch his words even as her heart thundered so loudly she was afraid it would give her away; even when she was not really sure that she wished to hear any more.

“No, it is not Celeste who concerns me now,” Tom was saying. “It is Lizzie. I have noticed-we all have-how tragically fond she has become of you, Waterhouse. It won’t do, old chap. It won’t do at all, not when you married her under false pretences.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Nat’s voice was clipped, furious. “What are you insinuating?”

Lizzie heard Tom’s voice grow louder. He must have moved closer to the door. Each word was now devastatingly clear.

“You haven’t told Lizzie, have you?” Tom said. “You haven’t told her about my blackmail because that would necessitate explaining to her that you married her for her fortune simply so you could pay me.”

“Lizzie knows that I needed money,” Nat snapped. “I made no secret of it.”

“But not that you took her and her money for revenge,” Tom said softly.

“That’s nonsense and you know it.” Was that a thread of hesitation in Nat’s voice now? Lizzie heard his tone change and felt the icy trickle of fear down her spine.

“Is it?” Tom said smoothly. “I don’t think so. You saw the opportunity to pay me back for my blackmail, didn’t you, Waterhouse? You knew that under the Dames’ Tax I would get half of Lizzie’s money if she did not wed before September. That is my right as Lord of the Manor. So you snatched Lizzie from under my nose, stole her dowry from me and then used it to pay me off!” He laughed. “That is the sort of unprincipled trick that I would pull. I almost admire you for it, except that you swindled me of my fair share of Lizzie’s cash, damn you.”

There was a silence, a long, damning silence. Lizzie waited for Nat to refute her brother’s words, for surely they could not be true. Nat would never have used her to get revenge on Tom. She could see now that he had needed her money to pay Tom and protect Celeste, but surely he had acted out of honorable motives.

And yet he had not told her about the blackmail. He had not trusted her.

The words slithered like cold, black poison through her mind and with another pang of icy grief she remembered Nat’s words to her that evening of the picnic, when he had begged her not to listen to Tom, not to believe anything Tom said…

Tom had been the one to tell her the truth about Gregory Scarlet, a truth Nat had kept from her. And now she realized that Nat had been afraid because he had known Tom might tell her the truth about her marriage, too. Nat had promised her that there were no more secrets, but now there was this. He had lied.

Nat had paid Tom off using her dowry.

The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.

She felt cold and doubting, not wanting to disbelieve Nat’s integrity and yet suddenly facing the fact that he was not the man she had thought him.

“You must not tell her,” Nat said, and Lizzie felt sick and dizzy to hear the words that confirmed Nat’s guilt. “You must not tell Lizzie, Fortune. I don’t want her to know the terms of our agreement. Not ever.” He sighed “What do you want this time for your silence?” He sounded tired.

Lizzie sagged against the banister, her fingers clenched tight on the smooth wood. So it was true. She would never have believed it if she had not heard Nat’s words for herself. But it was true. Nat had seen her as his opportunity to revenge himself on Tom. He had just admitted it. That was why he had not confided in her about the blackmail-because she would have realized he had paid Tom with her dowry. She would have realized that he had used her.

Lizzie sat down heavily on the stairs. In the beginning, when she had seduced Nat and he had offered her the protection of his name, she had been sure he had been acting out of honor. She still believed it now, though her faith in him was battered and tarnished. It was the same honor that had prompted Nat to protect Celeste and pay Tom’s price. Nat was not a bad person; he was not like Tom, motivated by nothing but greed. But then Monty had died and Tom had refused his permission for the wedding and Nat had seen the most perfect opportunity for revenge. He had outwitted Tom by getting Gregory Scarlet’s agreement for the match. He had taken Lizzie’s dowry and in doing so not only had he denied Tom his share under the Dames’ Tax but had also rubbed Tom’s nose in it by paying him the blackmail money from his sister’s fortune. It was neat, it was cunning, it was the perfect revenge. And she had been the instrument of it.